


i don't quite know what to say, but (this is me trying)

by mintikyung



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Han Jisung | Han has Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Hyunjin is Good, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-debut, Rivalry, but can also be interpreted to be, han and hyunjin hate each other, if u so please, kind of, not beta read we die like men, not explicitly romantic or even very friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintikyung/pseuds/mintikyung
Summary: “i know you hate me, but… stay?”“sure. fine. whatever.”or, the one where jisung- hyunjin's worst nightmare- has panic attacks in secret, and hyunjin- jisung's worst enemy- finds out first.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin, but can be interpreted as
Comments: 11
Kudos: 221





	i don't quite know what to say, but (this is me trying)

hwang hyunjin wanted one thing. all he wanted, all he had wanted since he’d joined the company, was to live his life in peace. was that really so much to ask? he just wanted to wake up unperturbed by the sound of yelling outside his door, wanted to eat breakfast without having to endure overenthusiastic rambling, wanted to go practice without having to be the one making the same couple choreography corrections _every single time,_ wanted to be alone without having to count the seconds till that same pair of sneakers came following him down the tile to disrupt his thoughts, to knock him off balance, to nip at his heels until he’d inevitably turn around and see only a smug smile and knowing eyes.

in short, hwang hyunjin wanted to be free of the ceaseless burden that was han jisung.

han jisung, a rapper _and_ a singer _and_ a songwriter _and_ a producer and, much less recognizably, a _nuisance._ not everyone felt the way hyunjin felt about him, hyunjin knew, and that was fine- _really,_ it was. initially, he hadn’t been able to understand it, the way their friend groups were a single-circle venn diagram and yet their one connection may as well have been forged of barbed wire with a running electric current, but he saw it now. as such, he had almost _(almost)_ come to accept it at this point.

as it was, hyunjin understood- and despised- that, in another life, maybe they would have made the perfect match, for lack of a better term. after all, ever since their first meeting, the two of them were something of a science experiment, ingredients half-hazardous and results uncertain; however, it didn’t take long for each of them, and each of their friends, to recognize that that experiment had been a failure. an explosive, catastrophic, oil and water _(fire and gunpowder,_ maybe) failure.

it was the first time they fought for real, the first time hyunjin had thought very, very seriously about breaking jisung’s nose, that it occurred to him why exactly they did not align in spite of how unordinary a fact that appeared to every other trainee that knew them.

everything about han jisung was hyunjin’s equal-opposite reaction. that was it. he was his utter equal, _hatefully_ so. they each knew the other’s shortcomings before even themselves, caught up the moment the other got ahead, said everything the other wanted but would never say a hundred times over. hyunjin’s pride and jisung’s ego were a dangerous combination, so they had all realized, for neither were willing to yield.

but there was something almost fascinating about it, the way weakness would flicker between their venom-laced gazes and crumble at their feet at the sound of the other’s voice. the way they would deconstruct each other with sharp words and endless passive-aggression until there was nothing left in the other to beat and then, for just a little while, there came an uneasy alliance. there was something almost tender about the waiting, about tiptoeing over each other’s figurative eggshells near-patiently, near-compassionately. there always would be something else to hate about the other, given enough time, but each victory was ever sweet as cinnamon and bitter just the same, beautiful and cruel and fleeting.

in a way, as things were now, their rivalry was the worst it had ever been, but somehow, their friendship- theoretically, anyway- was the best it may ever be.

not that that meant they were _friends._ not even that that meant they were _rivals._ hyunjin wasn’t necessarily a fan of acknowledging this uncanny tightrope balance between them as anything at all beyond _‘i hate him, he hates me, get him out of my sight.’_ he hated that jisung was his match. he hated how well jisung understood him. but, most of all, he hated that cold, creeping _guilt_ he felt when he thought about how strong and how false they each had to be in the face of the other.

but hyunjin didn’t spend too much time thinking about how things had gotten so bad, or where they could have turned the tide, or what there was about jisung that perhaps he would like, or maybe even couldn’t hate, if he cared (or _dared)_ to look. he didn’t like wondering what everyone else saw in him; what so drew chan to him when they were first the two trainees of the lot of them in the company that had almost serendipitously fallen together, or what changbin seemed to admire so much about him in spite of being older than them both, or all the rest.

or, well, he sure _tried_ not to spend too much time thinking about it. he would _insist_ that he never did, over and over and over again, and always be lying, but at the very least he couldn’t say he didn’t put up a good act. much of it was genuine anyhow, which helped (in some unfortunate, twisted way), but hyunjin couldn’t seem to keep the idea that perhaps their destiny was not this thing they’d wound their way into out of his head, especially in the quieter moments.

where he traced the lines of the tile beneath his feet, subconsciously counting the doors lining the hall on either side of him, hyunjin found himself, once more, wondering. the distant pulse of music from another practice room was all he had beyond the knowledge that _han jisung,_ of _all_ people, had found himself a neat little home in the back of his head. the music was his only reminder of why he was here- why these hallways did not solely belong to that empty, that quiet he hated so much, or likewise their counterparts in subtle jabs between lyrics through the stereo and the subsequent screaming matches that he had begun to hate just as much.

factually, logically, none of these rooms were in any way jisung’s. but, metaphorically, and somehow potently, every last one held a little piece of him in it, and that had slowly but surely started to haunt hyunjin. it had him wondering whether or not that little haven jisung had carved out for himself behind hyunjin’s eyelids looked like one of them, was stained with the blood and sweat they had each shed for this single, burning hate they both harbored for one another.

regardless, there was something seemingly intrinsic about walking down these hallways, turning into one of the several practice rooms along this corridor, flicking the lightswitch on, and finding jisung there. roll the tape: the lights would be on, their peers would be there, and jisung would be laughing like an idiot or running around like an idiot or trying to dance like an idiot, and it would gnaw at hyunjin’s conscience with something blunt and dark. every time, without fail, he would be there, almost as though he had been waiting for him. roll credits.

but today was different.

hyunjin had known, mostly from muscle memory, mostly without fully understanding why, that jisung would be here when he opened the door, but the _last_ thing he’d expected to see today when he did was jisung... tucked into the corner between a mirror and a speaker, head in his hands, sniffling and shuddering and… _sad._

and then, when jisung looked up at him, hyunjin realized in one fell swoop, like a punch to the gut, that jisung wasn’t sad, or maybe even wasn’t _just_ sad- he was _scared._

“what the hell?” came out of hyunjin’s mouth, even himself unaware of where exactly it had come from simply because it had come over him so suddenly, been knocked out of his lungs alongside his breath. jisung didn’t look unimpressed at the comment, which was how hyunjin had thought he would look. the fact of the matter was that hyunjin had no idea how he thought jisung looked at this point, as though his eyes could pragmatically make sense of the tight grip of the younger’s fingers on his black sleeves and his hoodie half over his eyes to hide their alarming redness and the way his breaths were shivery and frantic, tripping over themselves like jisung’s clumsy converse-clad feet, but his brain just _couldn’t._

jisung’s voice was equally as shaky as every other part of him- which hyunjin should have seen coming, but which then seemed to suddenly shock him at the very first word in spite of his better judgment- when he grumbled, “don’t. just don’t,” he paused, eyes dodging hyunjin’s to stare at the floor before he added, almost hesitant and certainly the most unconvincing he had ever been, “asshole.”

setting his bag down on a nearby chair, hyunjin kept his eyes locked on the other boy and squinted, silent in his scrutiny. “i didn’t even do anything,” hyunjin murmured, only directed at jisung in function, “asshole.” the dancer tacked the last word on as a footnote just so he could have it, tone almost fond in its mockery. when jisung didn’t personally take the time to glare at him as though looks could actually kill, as though he might even hope that they could, hyunjin finally decided that something really was, in fact, _deeply_ wrong here. it was then that, in conjunction with his prior conclusion, hyunjin realized why all this had him so unsettled; jisung was so upset he wasn’t even hating him. even worse, hyunjin wasn’t hating _him_ much, either.

but, then, he would have to be pretty awful to continue hating him with the state he was in, especially when he had to just stand there and watch as the other bit back a sob by pressing crescent shapes into his palms as though he was trying not to take up too much space in the room with his pain. maybe he could afford not to hate him for just a little while. maybe he might just have to.

it was then that the older of the two of them took in a shallow but steady breath and reached into his bag for his cellphone. “look, i’ll call chan-hyung, okay? he’ll handle it,” hyunjin suggested, already scrolling through his contacts for the leader of their ragtag little group of trainees _(his fingers were shaking, why were they shaking, when did they start shaking?),_ who just so happened to be one of the people he knew jisung trusted more than anyone. he knew this, of course, because hyunjin trusted him with his life, too. that was the thing about chan- he was a better person than either of them would ever be. it was no wonder, then, that everyone loved him so much.

but then, just as hyunjin was going to click the call button, jisung exclaimed, “no!” when hyunjin turned his incredulous eyes on him, jisung seemed to shrink and continued, voice now rasping and desperate, “please, please, don’t tell chan-hyung. please.”

hyunjin almost couldn’t fathom it, that someone chan clearly cared so much about could seem so… well, _terrified_ at the mention of the older boy. anyone could see chan and jisung’s love and appreciation for one another from a mile away; in the way they looked at each other, their comfortable, friendly touches, all the way down to the way they made music together. they respected one another, _trusted_ one another.

“what’re you so scared of?” hyunjin asked, tone a little less sensitive than he may have intended for it to be, or at least hoped it would come out of his mouth sounding. it was yet another one of his thoughts that came tumbling out of his mouth unbidden, untidy and maybe even the slightest bit unnecessary. even still, jisung couldn’t seem to stay focused on the conversation, at least not long enough to be (rightfully) upset. he was zoning in and out, tapping rhythms onto the wood paneling beneath him with his quivering fingers. hyunjin tried not to let that familiar habit of his irritate him, not right now. a part of him was busy being grateful what he’d said hadn’t made things worse.

jisung seemed to be coming up empty on the words he was trying to say, mouth opening and then closing and then opening again, so eventually hyunjin made the choice to elaborate instead of waiting on him. “look, channie’s good at comforting people, right? if there’s something wrong with you, he can help,” hyunjin explained, stepping slightly closer to the other and leaving his bag behind in the hopes that maybe this would get his attention and keep it.

it seemed to work, seeing as jisung soon shook his head, not looking up from the floor. the shaking was getting worse, hyunjin observed, but perhaps he only thought so because he was in closer proximity to it, now. he tried not to feel bad about that. he mostly failed.

“what do you want from me?” hyunjin suddenly asked, voice leaving his mouth both a little snappier and a little softer than he’d expected it to. that acknowledgement seemed to pass over jisung’s face just the same, and slowly but surely the younger looked up at him. hyunjin scanned over his face tentatively, cautiously, both finding it instinctive to make sure he wasn’t hurt or maybe sick, but also wary of letting jisung think he cared _too_ much about whatever all this was.

the dancer continued, “i can call someone else, i can get you back to the dorm, i-”

jisung sniffled, whimpered, held his breath. when he let it out again, it sounded jagged, unstable. there was something about the sound that seemed to lodge itself somewhere in hyunjin’s chest with a freezing grip- he had never thought jisung could do something like that. the jisung he knew was all fire and charcoal, burning and bright and dark like smoke in all their battles, but this jisung was like the thin layer of ice over water at the start of wintertime, so fragile and cold and scattered in tiny fragments all over the place, flickering under the fluorescent lights above their heads. as hyunjin watched a wave of silent tears trail down jisung’s face, a strange little piece of him thought he must be melting.

and then, tiny and sad and scared and alone, like broken leaves off withered branches, jisung whispered,

“i know you hate me, but… _stay?”_

and jisung was right. hyunjin _did_ hate him. in so many words, yes, that was how hyunjin felt about him. but when he turned his gaze down at jisung, for the first time not with contempt, and jisung was looking like he had never been any smaller than he was at this very moment, tear tracks seared into his big cheeks, oversized sweater with the sleeves pulled over his crooked little hands not enough to hide the way his whole body trembled with the force of whatever had taken hold of him, hyunjin knew there had to be more within himself than that dark, white-hot hate that gripped his ribcage when jisung entered a room he was already in.

even if tomorrow he once again found himself in a practice room with jisung’s chattering, echoing laugh stuck in his ears and that stupid, smug smirk making his fists clench and those clumsy feet sounding out squeaks and thuds on the floor as he made another, another, another mistake- there had to be more. if he wanted to be the (or maybe even _a)_ better person, there just _had_ to be.

so hyunjin puffed out a small sigh, slid his phone into his pocket, took a seat on the cold floor with his back against the speaker, and said, “sure. fine. whatever.”

in the subsequent silence, hyunjin tried not to look at jisung, partly because there was just so much sad, so much _sorry,_ so much _please_ written on the other’s face that he had never seen before, had never _wanted_ to see, and partly because, well, he didn’t want it to seem like he cared. didn’t want it to seem like this was his one single selfless act, like he fancied himself some sort of martyr for spending a few minutes of his time on someone who was just scared and alone, no matter who they were or were not.

hyunjin didn’t _care_ that it was han jisung, of all people, staring at him in his periphery, eyes full to the brim with awe and gratitude and pain (so much pain, hyunjin wondered where it had been hiding every time jisung was standing in front of him with his nostrils flared and knuckles white like they were just _begging_ to get themselves bloody; maybe it had always been there, and he’d managed to miss it every time). but hyunjin _did_ care- _could_ care, at least, even if only a little- that han jisung’s eyes were filled up with tears so fast hyunjin almost couldn’t remember what they’d looked like before, that han jisung was suddenly catching a breath like a little kid catches a baseball in the stands; like it had come at him too fast. like it was trying to kill him. like it _could_ kill him, _would_ kill him, and he would never be able to stop it because he just wasn’t strong enough.

the two of them had been in the middle of enough near-violent fights for hyunjin to know exactly what it looked like when jisung was overcome with emotion. he was an emotional guy, that much hyunjin knew, in his opinion oftentimes _over_ emotional. his eyes would get big and foggy, his face would glow bright red, he would bare his teeth like a wild dog- hyunjin knew the thousand colors that bloomed in his vision when he saw that crazed, uncontrolled anger on the other trainee’s face like he knew the back of his hand, all oranges and reds and blues and blacks.

but this? he had never seen anything like this. hyunjin had never seen so much _gray_ in one place, not on anyone.

especially not on jisung.

when it- it, it, whatever _it_ was- broke over jisung like a fever, the coldest fever in the whole world, hyunjin was pretty sure it really did _break_ something in him. one second the younger was swallowing that breath and the next it was swallowing him, hooking its claws into his throat and _squeezing,_ and jisung was choking with his head between his knees like he was bent over a toilet seat, heaving and heaving and finding no purchase except for the first of a couple dozen wet, agonizing sobs.

hyunjin didn’t want to watch. he didn’t want to see this. he knew jisung had wanted him here, god knows why, but it felt _wrong,_ felt _disgusting_ to witness whatever this was, because it was _personal_ and _messy_ and _horrifying_ and hyunjin had no idea what it was. no idea what to _do._ it was like a car crash, repelling and transfixing at the exact same time. this, this writhing mass of black sweatshirt and destruction and torrential rainfall, was han jisung’s wreckage, all of his broken pieces on display in the corner of this room, sitting right before hyunjin’s eyes, and what was he supposed to _do_ with all of that misery? all of that scattered sorrow, all this fear?

and, for the first time, hyunjin wanted to apologize. hyunjin didn’t think this- _this,_ this specifically- was his fault, but even so, he wanted to say _sorry._ wanted to tell him everything was okay, tell him every nasty thing he had ever said he hadn’t truly meant, even if maybe he actually had or maybe he at least _thought_ he had, at the time. wanted him to know that no matter how many times he had snapped at him to get his act together, to learn to dance like he wasn’t a newborn giraffe so he’d stop dragging the team down, to quit bitching and whining because he wasn’t working half as hard as anyone else, there had always been this little, ugly part of him that had meant to tell him he was _jealous_ of him. _jealous_ of all that he was capable of, all the things that came so, _so_ easy to him.

but in the face of this jisung, this weak, broken jisung, shaking and sweating and hyperventilating, clutching his chest with both hands like he was seconds away from dying right in front of him, hyunjin didn’t do that.

instead, hyunjin merely crept closer to the other boy, lifted one hesitant hand, and muttered, “hey.” jisung didn’t look up, didn’t reply, probably didn’t even hear him, so hyunjin set his hand down on his shoulder anyway. jisung seemed to feel that, seemed to try to look at hyunjin, but he didn’t quite get there. he just fell back into another whole-body sob, hands latching themselves to his own arms and fingers leaving imprints in his sleeves as another breath stuttered its way out of his mouth as if by accident and he simply _wept._

hyunjin patted his shoulder once, twice, squeezed gently, and then spoke softly, firmly, “you’re fine. you’re fine. you’re fine.”

he didn’t know what else to tell him. he didn’t know how to fix this, was strangely even the slightest bit embarrassed that he was trying and probably doing a shitty job, but at the very least the more he repeated the words, the more jisung seemed to hear him. hyunjin felt him nod, watched his mouth form around the same mantra soundlessly a couple times. he thought it was helping. he even hoped it was.

it was funny, then, the way time seemed to pass, both too slow and so fast. jisung cried and whimpered several times more, but slowly his breathing seemed to even itself out, and after what felt like an eternity or maybe a little over a few minutes, jisung was wiping his face on his hood and finally, finally looking back up. he laid his head against the mirror, eyes closed, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slow and careful. hyunjin retracted his hand, sat back on his elbows, looked away in a form of mock privacy or, well, something along those lines.

neither of them spoke. for just a moment, in between each trying their hardest to glance at the other in secret, their eyes met, and they held each other’s gazes there as if in a stalemate, like arms twisted and hands locked in a wrestling match too evenly split. after all, hyunjin reckoned, that was them. two jagged individuals, perfectly imperfect, fitting into each other’s worst intentions and impulses like puzzle pieces. backwards ones, maybe. something stupid like that. almost like they were _made_ to hate one another, just as he had always thought. briefly, as hyunjin’s eyes flickered to the mirror and he watched jisung’s eyelashes fluttering in a pretty bronze frame made of his mussed hair, he wondered if it really had to be that way.

neither of them spoke. neither of them had to.

eventually, jisung got up. no longer were his legs trembling, but there remained an emptiness in his eyes that hyunjin wondered who else had ever seen, who else would ever know the way he suddenly, terrifyingly did- it was their only evidence. hyunjin didn’t look over his shoulder when jisung brushed past it, didn’t tell the other boy to wait when he heard him pick up his bag, didn’t follow after him as he opened the door and left.

but he listened to jisung’s sneakers disappear down the hallway, and, for the first time, didn’t think about every time they had ever stumbled over each other, every last mistake jisung had ever made. maybe that was hyunjin’s own mistake, maybe his worst. (or maybe it was the opposite.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please leave a comment if you feel so inclined- they mean the world to me <3
> 
> i hope you have a lovely day, night, week, month, whatever it may be. i know times are tough, but you're going to be alright. just take a breath, smile, and remember that stray kids love you very, very much.


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